


Terrible Stories of the Things We Did for Love

by notmyyacht



Series: Nevada & His Precious Penguin [6]
Category: Gotham (TV), Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Caretaking, Crossover Pairings, Depression, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Overprotective Nevada, Possessive Nevada, Post-Episode: s03e14 The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, a bit of melodrama, dark themes, one-sided nygmobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: There is no fate, only circumstance. There is no love, only selfish need. If these are true, then how come Nevada was right where he needed to be for the one person he needed to be there for?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I did it again. I wrote more for this crackship. This is probably the only fic of this series that actually mentions it's connected to the other parts. The others can be read on their own. This one can too, I guess but I do make a nod or two. I did write this as a sequel to "I Remain" since they're both somewhat canon compliant (y'know, aside from Nevada's existence in this world lol).
> 
> This one got kinda dark, and I'm so sorry! I really do love Ed. Anyway, hope you enjoy this mess :D

Nevada Ramirez didn’t believe in fate. A person makes his own way in the world and decides how they will live. Circumstance can alter that chosen course, but circumstance should never be confused with fate. Fate implied a higher power had a hand in the situation, but if that is so, then why did horrible things happen in the world? Free will. Circumstance.

Circumstance is what placed Nevada Ramirez along the East River. He was there to meet with a dealer from the area to talk about sharing territory; it wasn’t the first time. Although Nevada preferred warm restaurants, this dealer liked meeting in vacant places.

At least they didn’t have to be there long. It was getting dark and it had been raining on and off all day.

The dealer walked off, their business finished. Nevada sighed at the waste of time; this could have been handled over a phone call and yet here he was, out in the cold, damp air. Whatever. It had stopped raining anyway.

He took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Cupping his hands around the end, he lit it. He took a drag as he looked across the water. Not much of a sight, but he allowed himself a moment of peace before he would travel back through the noisy city.

That’s when he saw him and even later when Nevada thought about it, he still wouldn’t admit if it was fate. But if fate did exist, then surely it had a hand in this moment.

His men were too far off. Nevada had wanted some space for his peaceful smoke. Damn it all. Nevada quickly tossed his cigarette and shrugged off his leather jacket. Not far, but not close enough, his men could hear the splashes of Nevada running along the shallow rocks and jumping into the river.

When they were finally close enough, they saw their boss grabbing a hold of Gotham’s mayor.

“Penguin! Penguin, wake up!” Nevada shouted, an arm wrapped around the smaller man. Miguel had come in after them and was already helping Nevada take the Penguin to shore.

Once on dry land, Nevada lay Oswald down and pressed his fingers to his neck. There was a heartbeat, but Oswald wasn’t breathing.

“Shit,” Nevada growled, eying the wound in Oswald’s abdomen. He started an attempt at CPR. He wasn’t certified, but he knew enough. He did mouth-to-mouth. Gabby was about to tell him that it was hopeless when Oswald gave a sudden cough and water sputtered from his mouth like a fountain as he gasped for air.

Oswald looked straight ahead, as if searching for a lost image. His lungs burned as he struggled for breath. He passed out before he could say anything. He didn’t even realize Nevada was bent over him, with something resembling concern on his face.

 

Oswald Cobblepot awoke days later in a soft, warm bed. It wasn’t his own bed. The feel of the sheets wasn’t silky enough. There was the faint smell of something cooking. Scrambled eggs? Ed liked to make him scrambled eggs…

“Ed…?”

He _must_ be in Ed’s apartment. It was all a dream! A wonderful, terrifying dream. He never went to Arkham, was never tortured by a man named Hugo Strange. Fish Mooney was still dead. Galavan was still alive. He was out there, gloating about being mayor. Oswald never got to be mayor. It was only a dream. His mother had only just died. His father died just like his mother said. He never even met his father; he wasn’t heir to a wonderful big house. None of it was real… Ed though… Oswald felt a pang in his chest. Isabella never existed. Ed never loved her. Oswald still loved Ed. He hadn’t known him long, but he loved him all the same. That’s what his dream was trying to tell him…

“Oswald?”

Oswald opened his eyes.

No. This wasn’t Ed’s old apartment. It _did_ all happen. Ed found out Oswald had Isabella killed. Ed shot Oswald. Oswald still loved Ed.

And there was Nevada, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was always there. Oswald still hated Nevada.

“You’re finally awake.” Nevada was dressed down in nothing but dark jeans and a black t-shirt. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a while. He looked like shit, just how Oswald felt.

Oswald remembered falling backward, the look on Ed’s face…

“Am I alive?” Oswald rasped. His throat hurt, dehydrated. Nevada immediately noticed and handed him a glass of water from the bedside table.

“Yeah. Someone shot you and dumped you in the river. Fuckin’ lucky I saw you floating there.” Not fate.

“Ed…” Oswald’s eyes watered and he made an attempt to sit up. A sharp pain tore through his belly and he slumped back down with a strained groan.

“Jesus, Oswald…” Nevada placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move so much. You got a lot of healing to do.”

Oswald didn’t care about that. He could die right here for all he cared. He loved Ed, but Ed didn’t love him. It wasn’t fair. Oswald wanted to die. Why couldn’t Nevada just leave him in the damn river?

Nevada visibly flinched and Oswald immediately realized he had just said that last part out loud.

Whatever Nevada was thinking, he didn’t care.

“Who shot you?” asked Nevada, his tone rougher.

Oswald closed his eyes and silently wished Nevada wouldn’t ask, and would just go away.

“It was Nygma, wasn’t it? He found out you killed his girlfriend?” Nevada huffed and said, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You should have known that would happen.”

“Yes, I should have. But I still love Ed… and I hope he’s happy now.”

Nevada narrowed his eyes.

“Happy? He fucking tried to kill you.”

“And he succeeded. Even if I survived… he thinks he succeeded. Good for him.” Oswald knew that killing him would change Ed for the worse, but it was Ed’s choice. It was about time Oswald gave a damn about what Ed wanted. Maybe Ed wanted to be worse. Good for him. Oswald was done.

 

This is why people like them don’t fall in love.

Oswald spent most of his healing time in bed, depressed more than he had ever been. He agreed to let Nevada’s private doctor treat him. To what end, Oswald didn’t know or care. He just let Nevada do whatever he wanted.

He would stay in bed and allow the numbness to consume him. Nevada had never been so much of a caretaker to anyone before, but he did it. He had to or else he was sure Oswald would let himself give up and die right there. Not on Nevada’s watch.

It was infuriating. He cooked most of his meals, making sure he ate healthy while he recovered. The occasional takeout wouldn’t hurt, he figured on nights he was too tired or lazy to cook.

Nevada made sure Oswald showered or bathed regularly. Most of the time that meant he would carry Oswald to the bathroom. You learn a lot about a person from taking care of them this intimately. Nevada learned Oswald preferred baths, that he liked spicy foods, and he preferred the feeling of being bundled up when relaxing. Nevada was the opposite; he preferred wearing nothing but his underwear on his days off.

Nevada also changed Oswald’s bandages. The literal painful reminder of why he was there.

Those were the worst days. The days when Oswald was ready to give up. He wouldn’t eat or take his pain meds.

“I deserve this agony,” he said the first time he refused. But Nevada wouldn’t have it. He forced him to sit up then stuck the two tablets in his mouth. He’d force water into Oswald’s mouth then hold his jaw closed until Oswald swallowed.  

Oswald had gotten used to people no longer manhandling him as they did back when he was nothing more than an umbrella boy. Nevada handling him like that made him feel low and weak. But it made him _feel_. He stopped refusing to take his meds. He let Nevada take care of him.

The surrender didn't last long. Two weeks in, on one of the worst days, Nevada snapped. Oswald had been refusing to eat. He had gotten to the point where he could walk without much difficulty. But it was a bad day and he wouldn’t even get out of bed.

Nevada hadn’t been having a good day himself. So he screamed and broke a lamp. Oswald didn’t even flinch. Nevada stormed out and took a walk to cool his jets.

When he later returned, he found Oswald on his feet and with his nose in the fridge. Nevada walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You want me to make you something?” he asked. Oswald nodded.

That day had been the lowest point for the both of them.

The entire time Nevada was playing the reluctant caretaker, he had his men searching for Nygma. The riddling bastard was apparently playing another cat-and-mouse with the GCPD over the disappearance of the mayor. Nevada stretched his resources. He _was_ going to find him before anyone else.

He didn’t tell Oswald what was happening. He just let the man sleep and heal. Once in a while he and Oswald would watch a movie together, just so Oswald spent some time awake and doing something. Things were better.

Some nights Oswald curled up against Nevada and whispered Ed’s name. Nevada hated Ed.

“It’s just me, pingüino,” he would whisper back. Even if Oswald was awake enough to hear him, he stayed beside Nevada, his cheek pressed against Nevada’s bare shoulder. It was almost sweet.

Nevada didn’t love Oswald, but perhaps this was the closest thing he was going to get.

 

It was one of the most satisfying feelings Nevada Ramirez had ever felt.

The way Ed’s pale skin bruised under his grip. The blood he managed to draw before winding up on top of him.

Ed’s cracked glasses lay off to the side. His new green bowler hat not far.

Whatever Edward Nygma had turned into, it didn’t last. Shame too, Nevada would later muse, he would’ve probably liked to see the chaos The Riddler would bring to this city.

Except The Riddler was born out of the attempted murder of The Penguin and that… Well, Trujillo would not let that stand.

Whatever Oswald would think of Nevada for doing this, it didn’t matter. Nevada didn’t care. Ed would come after him again. Nevada could not let that stand.

He was putting Oswald’s safety before everything.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t something he was just telling himself to justify his actions.

During the extensive search for Ed, Oswald had started to regain some color in his cheeks. He even managed to smile a few times. Oswald agreed to stay with Nevada for a little while. Nevada began to lose interest in killing Edward.

After all, circumstance brought Oswald back into his arms. Perhaps this had been for the best after all.

And then Nevada stumbled upon the Riddler near the river, at the edge of a metal scaffold. He couldn’t tell what he was doing. Just standing there, staring across the water.

Strange, Nevada had thought. Ed and Oswald could have been good for each other. Sometimes things just don’t work out. But what if...?

“He’s alive, y’know.”

Ed whirled around and saw Nevada standing there with pity in his eyes. Ed didn’t recognize him, he didn’t know him. They never actually properly met. Nevada knew Ed’s face only from television and newspapers. He was much more handsome in real life. Such a pity.

“What!?” Ed had snarled.

That’s when Nevada knew he had to kill him. He recognized that look of anger. It was one Nevada carried with him on a daily basis. He wore it when he kicked the shit out of those who had roughed Oswald up back when he was only an umbrella boy. Nevada wore it when he strangled Sasha Van Dahl. He wore it when he ordered his men to find Edward Nygma. He was wearing it now. It was like looking into a mirror.

If the Riddler got a hold of Oswald again, he would surely kill him.

Trujillo could not have that.

So he shot him; just once, in the shoulder. Then he punched him, knocking off the glasses and hat. Ed had the advantage of height and strategic skill, but Nevada had been in physical fights since he was a kid. The Riddler put up a good fight. Nevada put up a better one. 

He managed to settle on top of Ed’s chest, his hands cradling Ed’s face. Ed kicked and punched to no avail. Nevada pushed his thumbs upward and in.

Ed screamed, writhing under him with more fury than ever. Although Ed was taller in comparison, Nevada had more strength on his side. It’s all he needed.

“Don’t touch _my_ things,” Nevada snarled and lifted Ed’s head slightly, only to put as much force into smacking it back down on the ground.

Ed stopped moving and his whole body went limp under Nevada.

People like them can’t fall in love, not the way good people can. For people like Nevada, Oswald, and Ed jealousy was too strong a force. It destroyed everything, leaving nothing but a sad blood stain.

It was only a matter of time before Oswald would find out what Nevada had done. He would find out and do to Nevada what Ed had done to him. But right now, Nevada couldn’t care about that. For now, Oswald was safe. This was for the best.

Nevada didn’t hide that he was covered in blood when he got home. Oswald eyed him when he walked through the door. He saw the blood and smirked.

“Rough day at the office?” he joked with a dry humor.

“Something like that,” Nevada replied. Oswald said nothing more on the matter, and turned his attention back to the television screen. He would soon get his strength back. He would soon find out what Nevada had done and seek vengeance. It was a never-ending cycle with people like them.

Nevada went to go take a shower.


End file.
